


Vignettes

by oh_johnny



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 18:50:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6389035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_johnny/pseuds/oh_johnny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a story that many years ago Q magazine asked Paul how he would spend the day with John if John came back to life. Apparently, Paul answered, "In bed." Which inspired this, although it is set while John was alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vignettes

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of a fic which first appeared in the lj comm Beatlesslash.

Paul’s eyes opened slowly, blinking in the dull light of the room. He raised his head from John’s chest where it had been resting and peered toward the window, hoping for some clue as to time of day. John grunted and pulled him back down. He lay for a moment, feeling John’s chest move as he breathed, luxuriating in the feel of the man beside him. He reached a hand up to caress his cheek, ran his fingers through his hair. John’s hand followed, captured his, pulled it down to rest on his chest. Paul smiled slightly, snuggled down and drifted back to sleep.

*******************

The next time he woke it was because he was cold. There was no body next to him this time, no heat to snuggle up to. He sat up and looked blearily around the hotel room. No John. Where…? Ah. He heard the sound of running water from the bathroom, John humming to himself as he shaved. He reached over to the night stand, hunting for the pack of cigarettes he had left there last night. When he finally found them he pulled one out, lit it and sat back enjoying the rush of that first fix of nicotine.

The bathroom door opened and John emerged, freshly washed and shaved. He smiled at Paul and crawled up the bed to him, greeting him with a kiss then reaching over to grab a cigarette for himself.

“Good morning, sunshine. Sleep well?”

“Good morning yourself. Slept very well, thank you. I always do when I have you for a pillow.”

They grinned at each other and slumped in companionable silence on the bed, smoking.

“Whole day off today, Paulie. Not a reporter or a fan in sight.”

“Thank Christ for that. I’m fed up with the lot of ‘em.”

“Raining, though. Thought we could lounge around by the pool, but that’s a no go. From the looks of things this one’s going to last all day.”

“Figures, doesn’t it? Beautiful weather every day we have to work. One fucking day off and it just pours. Might as well be in England.”

Mm. Well, I’m sure we’ll come up with something. Right now, you need to go and shower. You smell like a bloody navvie.”

“Yes, well, somebody had me working up a sweat most of the night through.”

“Don’t remember hearing any complaints at the time. Some begging maybe, but no complaints.”

Paul clambered out of the bed, smacking John over the head with a pillow as he went. John just grinned as Paul disappeared into the bathroom, finished his cigarette as he heard the sound of the shower starting, then grinned wider and followed Paul into the bathroom, shedding his dressing gown as he did so.

************************

“Trousers.”

“John Lennon. Pleased to meet you.”

“No, you idiot. Where are my trousers?”

“Don’t know. Don’t particularly care. Why are you getting dressed?”

“Breakfast.”

“Call room service.”

“I’m going to. But I need my trousers.”

“To make a phone call? Paul, you understand they can’t see through the phone, right?”

“Don’t be daft.”

“Me? I’m not the one who checks my hair in the mirror before I answer the phone. I’m not sure you really grasp how this technology stuff works, you know.”

“I just feel better if I’m dressed, that’s all.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake. Here, your trousers are right here.”

“Thank you.”

“Tsk, Paulie. No underwear? What will room service think of you? Oh, the shame, the horror of it all!”

“Shut up Lennon. Let me call. You want anything?”

“You.”

“Besides me.”

“Whatever you’re having, then.”

Paul dialed the phone, spoke to the person at the other end, then turned to John.

“It’ll be about twenty minutes.”

“Right then. Come here and take off those damn trousers.”

“John!”

“What? You said we have twenty minutes. I promise to be done before then. Besides, you know I hate it when you wear clothes.”

****************************

They sat on the bed, guitars on their laps, playing each other bits of songs, melodies, working out phrasings, trying new ideas, seeing what worked and what didn’t. It was a favourite part of the process for both of them, just trying stuff out, bouncing ideas off one another.

“You sure you haven’t heard this one before?”

“Jesus, Paul. How many times do we have to go through this. I haven’t heard it before. Nobody’s bloody heard it before. It’s yours. You wrote it.”

“How is that possible, though? How can I just wake up one morning and have a song there, ready to go?”

“Don’t know. You must be some sort of flippin’ musical genius, I suppose.”

“Ah, yes. I’d forgotten that for a minute.”

John smiled at Paul fondly, knowing that under the jokes it was true. Paul was some sort of musical genius, he just didn’t seem to know it.

“Got any lyrics for it yet?”

“Not really. Just a first line. Seems like it should be something sad.”

He sang, “Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away.”

“That’s it really.”

John thought for a moment, then grinned.

“I’ve got it. Try this, ‘Then I got drunk and let John have his way…’ What do you think?”

“Talk about your musical genius! Let me just write that down.”

They laughed now, enjoying being together, goofing around. Then…

“It’s not true, you know.”

“What, Paulie?”

“I didn’t get drunk and let you have your way. I wasn’t drunk. I knew exactly what I was doing, what you were doing. I wanted it just as badly as you did.”

”So why did you act like you were drunk?”

“Don’t know really,” Paul shrugged, “Giving you a chance to back out, no harm done, I guess.”

“I wouldn’t have backed out, Paul. Couldn’t have. Spending every day so close to you, falling in love with you. I don’t know what I’d have done if you’d said no or, God forbid, laughed at me.”

“I’d never laugh at you, John.”

With that, Paul leaned over and kissed him, the two guitars knocking against each other. He moved his aside, reached down and took John’s and put it with the other, then pulled John tighter towards him. They collapsed on the bed, mouths and hands seeking warmth and love and, eventually, ecstasy.

*********************

“What are you doing?”

“Putting on my trousers.”

“Why?”

“Calling room service.”

“Christ, Paul!”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I know. Just let it be, okay?”

“Okay. But Paul? This time order enough for the rest of the day. I don’t want to see you clothed again before tomorrow.”

**********************

“Who was that?”

“George. Wanted to know what we were up to.”

“What did you say?”

“Told him you’d just given me a blow job and then fucked me up the ass. What do you think I said? I told him we were working. Good thing you were in the loo, though, or he might have been able to tell through the phone that you’re naked.”

“Prat.”

“You know, from now on we should always work like this.”

“Mmm. I can see the newspaper reports now. ‘Whatever happened to the great songwriting team of Lennon and McCartney? This reporter went to find out but was told the two were too busy screwing to answer any questions.’”

********************

“John?”

“Mmm?”

“This was perfect.”

John smirked, “Why, thank you, my boy. I aim to please.”

“No, you git. Today, I mean. It was a perfect day.”

“Mm. For me too.”

“Promise me something?”

“Mm?”

“Whenever we can, we’ll spend the day like this. You and me. In bed.”

“Promise.”


End file.
